Can't Ski Won't Ski ; Who Said There's No Point in Going Up a Mountain If You Can't Ski Down It? Not Annabel Rivkin and Sasha Slater, Who Find That Foie Gras, Vintage Champagne and a Bit of a Walk Can Be Quite Demanding Enough, Thank You

Evening Standard - London › February 24, 2006

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Summary

ANNABEL RIVKIN CAN'T SKI IN LES GETS

I woke to a perfect alpine day in Les Gets. The weather was bright and crisp, and breakfast was being discreetly but attentively served to me in the stylish surroundings of the Ferme de Moudon, a converted 17th-century chalet whose restoration was recorded and commended on Grand Designs Abroad. So why did I feel as though I were about to sit an A level? I am rarely struck dumb, but sitting in my thermals, gazing into the depths of my canarino, I felt properly scared. There comes a time in the city rat's life when you rarely attempt an entirely alien physical discipline. And the idea of flinging myself down a mountain just me on two sticks was making me feel out of control and physically frail. I was suddenly aware that I'm not as rubbery as I used to be and that going too fast is not clever or anything other than highly perilous. The one time I'd been skiing before, my best school friend had shattered her knee on the first day and I'd gone down with her in the blood wagon. I knew I ought to give this sport a go because here I was and it would be idiocy not to take advantage of these amazing surroundings, but I was terrified because I just can't ski.

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Can't Ski Won't Ski ; Who Said There's No Point in Going Up a Mountain If You Can't Ski Down It? Not Annabel Rivkin and Sasha Slater, Who Find That Foie Gras, Vintage Champagne and a Bit of a Walk Can Be Quite Demanding Enough, Thank You

And I looked hideous, which never helps. Swamped in a huge grey two-piece, I looked like a creature from Atlantis; a being of an unidentifiable species staggering about patting down my pockets for zinc and goggles and gloves and all the paraphernalia.

I hate pastimes that require 'gear'. And ski boots hurt. And so worried was I about the indignity and pain of falling over that, throughout my stay in Les Gets, I opted to descend the steps into shops and restaurants on my bottom. On balance, I decided that it was better to bounce gently than to crash painfully.

Laurent Touchboeuf was my shaven-headed, 45-year-old, singing ski instructor. Thank God. My brother's snowboarding (...

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